Don't Think Twice
by sixpetalpoppy
Summary: Oliver is moving higher into the Quidditch world, but he's scared that soon he'll be stuck in a rut he can't progress from. Hermione is 6 months after a break up with Ron, overwhelmed by work and losing her sense of self in her inbox tray. AU Oliver/Hermione
1. Chapter 1

A.N. - There's a prequel one-shot to this multi-fic that I wrote on my profile called 'An Aerial Approach'.  
As it stands this is un-Beta'd, if you're interested in betaing this story, please let me know.  
I own very little, I'm well into my overdraft and, unlike Robert Galbraith, I'm not JK Rowling who owns the characters and settings that I play with here.

* * *

Hermione Granger

* * *

There was an owl on my desk. Originally, I'd told myself that if I ignored the owl then said owl would go away and leave me to merrily continue with my work. Merrily may have been an exaggeration, of course, but the sentiment remained: I did not want to read this post. Firstly, I had a large enough pile of letter, papers and reports to trudge through without adding another to the list, but that was the easy excuse; the real reason I was avoiding eye contact with the owl that was eyeing me with contempt was because I recognised it as Molly Weasley's owl. With Molly Weasley's owl came another invitation. Another invitation to Sunday lunch, Sunday lunch with Ron and his family, admittedly they were my family too, and I loved them dearly, but Molly was relentless with her attempts to mend the rift between myself and Ron. Molly believed that the pair of us were a match written in the stars, as sickening as it sounds, and no amount of protesting from either of us held much sway over her fantasies.

When the owl begun to peck and scrape at my sleeve, the vicious little thing, I yielded to its attack, taking the envelope and trying to discard it into the precariously overflowing inbox; the owl remained, pointedly looking between the inbox and myself, the stiff implication in its stature telling me it knew the game I was playing and that it could wait me out as it required a reply even if I didn't want to give it.

_Hermione,  
We look forward to seeing you on Thursday evening, I do hope you've not forgotten, you're awfully busy nowadays. You work too hard, dear.  
We're sitting down around 8, after everyone has got in from work; Percy insists he can't get there a minute before and that we're not to start the celebrations without him. He's bringing Audrey, so if you get the chance to talk to Ronald or the twins, do tell them to be on their best behaviour.  
Molly._

"Oh, Merlin," I swore under my breath, earning another glare from the self-righteous owl.

Molly Weasley's birthday, how had I forgotten? The owl hooted, dropping more hints, and I turned back to it settled next to my inbox. Ah, the inbox. That's how I'd forgotten. At first glance my wire tray with precariously balanced papers didn't look over full, sure you'd assume it'd take a few hours to hit bottom but you wouldn't think there was too much there, not enough to swamp me; but then at first glance you wouldn't notice the expanding charm either.

I hastily wrote a reply to Molly, assuring her that I hadn't forgotten (although I had) and that I would certainly pass on her messages to Ron and the twins if I saw them (which I most likely wouldn't); the twins hardly left the shop nowadays and when they did it was to go to their homes with Angelina and Katie. Angelina Weasley née Johnson had relented and married Fred four months earlier, one of the things that Fred had promised her was a home separate from George, an idea that, after 5 years of sharing a bathroom with her husband's twin was quite a selling point; unbeknownst to her, her husband and his twin had each bought a semi-detached house and it wasn't unusual for her to wake up in the night to hear Morse code being tapped from one side of their bedroom wall to George and Katie's conjoining one. Katie and George was a more recently development but still one with promise, the pair had rekindled the hints of romance from Hogwarts at Angelina's birthday two years ago and had moved in with George when they'd relocated from the flat above the shop.

The owl left, but not before knocking over as many papers as it could, cheeky sod, sending my inbox pile flying and leaving me on my hands and knees cleaning up the devastation. The excessive amount of parchment related to my work as a trainee solicitor in magical law, a field I both relished and regretted simultaneously. While my work interested me to no end, I genuinely loved the subject matter and truly believed that I could have a positive impact on the magical community I was still just a trainee and, as one of the most experienced and meticulous trainees at the practice, I was in constant demand. This demand had, somehow, increased over the past six months, the breakup with Ron freeing up my spare time and reducing me to a paperwork machine. I'd soon learnt, after leaving Hogwarts, that being the 'Brightest Witch of her age' was a double edged sword.

* * *

Oliver Wood

* * *

It was amazing how well sound carried through the Puddlemere stadium, truly amazing. Noteworthy too, if there was anything that I'd take from today it was to tone down the yelling. Not that I did too much yelling nowadays, in the past ten years I'd definitely matured from the aggressively enthusiastic 17 year old Quidditch captain I'd been at Hogwarts. Admittedly I was still aggressively enthusiastic, I just didn't yell so much, the yelling was up to our coach, James Lewis, but he seemed to enjoy it a fair bit.

It wasn't James yelling now though, it was Billy Trenton the Puddlemere captain, although by the sounds of it he wasn't intending to be captain for much longer. I sat with the rest of the team, none of us making eye contact, waiting for today's training to get going, except there wasn't going to be any training until the bosses and Billy quit yelling at each other. So here we were, awkwardly listening in as Billy adamantly insisted to James and Jack Abrams, Puddlemere's manager, that actually he'd had enough of 'getting knocked out while darting around risking his neck to get a stupid red ball through three equally stupid hoops'.

"Bet his wife's got something to do with it," whispered Anne Sullivan at my side.

Carol, Billy's wife, was notoriously disapproving of the state her husband returned to her in game after game, Billy had a penchant for taking beautiful risks in the air but he could never fully handle the fall out afterwards. So it had come to this, just after the second match of the season and their captain was leaving them, the wife had had enough, he'd had enough and that was that. Jack didn't like it? Jack could do one. That's what he'd said. There's that penchant for risks again. Maybe it was good he was quitting, nobody with a value for their life told Jack Abrams to do one and if they did then they surely were a few sickles short of a galleon.

"-AND WHERE IN THE NAME OF MERLIN AM I GOING TO FIND ANOTHER BLEEDING CHASER AND CAPTAIN TWO MATCHES INTO THE BLOODY SEASON?" Jack was roaring, actually roaring. If I didn't have a sense of self-preservation, I'd probably have pulled out some of that muggle snack 'popcorn' that Chrissie is always eating.

The season wasn't going brilliantly though and I could understand Jack's apprehension at losing one of his boldest players, let alone his captain to boot. We'd won both games but the first had only been by the skin of our teeth and we'd missed out on points not getting the Snitch. See, in the Quidditch league, there were five points up for grabs per game, they add up quickly and it's easy to get behind, you get three points for a win and two additional points for a Snitch catch. After Saturday's match, a brutal four hour match that we won 380-140, we were fourth in the league, which wasn't bad but nothing to get complacent about. Billy had left the pitch with a dislocated shoulder, a concussion and a disgruntled Carol; in all honesty his resignation wasn't a surprise to anyone paying attention.

The yelling had stopped now, a door was slammed, the slap of boots against the floor, we all tried to look busy but it was clear we'd been hanging on every word when Billy stormed into the locker room, "you guys hear all that, 'eh?"

We all murmured confirmations, it seemed that nobody wanted to face up to the fact that we'd been, unintentionally, eavesdropping. The bigger concern, certainly in my case, was what the bloody hell was going to happen to the team now? I felt betrayed, if I'm honest, he was our captain, our leader, he'd led me onto the pitch for five years now; I'd never played a Puddlemere game that he hadn't led. I stood up, overwhelmed with sentiment, and pulled him into a very awkward hug that I regretted instantaneously, this hadn't been my best move, "what the bloody hell are we going to do without you up there, 'eh, mate?"

* * *

Hermione Granger

* * *

The smell of coffee drew my eyes up from the paperwork in front of me, only one person made coffee that strong smelling in this building, she was the only other person who stayed as late as me.

"Hermione, dear? You want a coffee?" Matilda called out from the kitchenette down the hall.

I turned my eyes back to the paperwork, I could take it home or do it here but it needed to be done tonight and as I was more susceptible to sleep in my own home I called out my request for the caffeine she was making.

"It's ten o'clock again, Hermione, and it's only Monday; how many times were you in over the weekend?" the coffee Matilda presented was strong, milky and sweet. I sipped appreciatively, willing the caffeine to take action, I tried to avoid magical energy potions but the lethargy of office work built up and caffeine was a Muggle vice I embraced truly.

"Oh, just Saturday, I needed to work on Mr Carpenter's Furnunculus case, the research wasn't 100% ready for his meeting today." I lied, I came in Sunday too. She didn't need to know that though, I could already feel the reprimand she was building up to brewing, a strong and as scolding as the coffee in the pot.

"Hermione, its researching spelled boils, you didn't need to sacrifice your Saturday." The look she was giving me clearly stated that she knew I'd been in Sunday too, darn, I'd need to start working from home.

"It needed to be done, Matilda! Besides, I had nothing better to do."

"Because you spend so much time here, you've made this office your priority; you're going to be stuck if you don't put your foot down with this workload soon."

"That's a bit rich, isn't it? You're still here at 10pm too." My tone grew defensive, the woman in front of me worked just as hard as I did, if not more, she was in no position to chastise me.

"Yeah, I am, so I speak from experience. Don't make my mistakes. Have a life. Else you'll end up 53, doing someone else's paperwork at ten o'clock in the evening because it's your best option too."

She walked away back to her office and as I watched her turn the corner I realised she was right, and it petrified me.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione Granger

Thursday evening, bang on eight, I Apparated to the Burrow straight from work clutching a rejuvenated posy, stolen from the front desk of the office. Thank Merlin for rejuvenating spells. Never had I been so glad that the Weasleys weren't huge gift givers. I approached the wonky gate I'd opened a thousand times warily, as I often did nowadays, the breakup with Ron had strained my good-natured relationship initially and we were still very much in the recovery stages.

Percy and Audrey Apparated behind me as I lingered, I was thankful for their arrival, giving me an excuse not to enter the house alone. The living room was already overflowing with Weasleys when we arrived; Harry, Ginny and Arthur were sat with five year old Teddy, who had clearly chosen to be a red head for the occasion. Teddy was entertaining his guardians with a jumbled story from day-care, punctuated with changing facial characteristics while a thoroughly impressed Victoire sat on the opposite sofa with her heavily pregnant mother. Bill and Charlie were setting up the additional tables, reserved for family gatherings such as these. It was too late in the year to eat outside but with some determination you could fit the entire family in the kitchen, as long as you didn't mind knocking elbows with your neighbour's neighbour.

Once the stragglers had finally shown up (much to the frustration of Percy who ranted admirably before receiving a sharp look from his mother), a silence settled over the Burrow that could only be associated with food. The table was laden with Molly Weasley classics that we all piled onto our plates with eager abandon, the mismatched foods were perfect together in a way I'd only seen possible at the Burrow and Hogwarts. In no other setting could beef stew and quiche be an acceptable combination.

"Hermione, how's work?" asked Molly as we watched the insatiable appetites begin to waver, "are you slowing down at all, dear? You do overdo it."

_Ah_, I thought, _time for the Spanish inquisition_. A downside of dinner at the Weasley's was the inevitable assessment of my work and love life from a well-meaning Molly. She hadn't started setting me up with wizards yet but it was just a matter of time. Ginny had told me last week that her brothers were betting on when she'd make her move, from the attentive expression on Charlie's face (strawberry cheesecake hovering on a fork inches from his mouth), I had an inkling that he'd put good galleons on today being the day.

"It's quite busy, Molly, but it's going well; you know I enjoy it," the lie just came out, of course I don't enjoy it, I think I'm losing my life to that place.

"Yes, dear, but you don't get out much anymore now, do you?"

I'm sure my affront was written across my face but that was just rude! All cutlery had been dropped with Molly's unintentionally (I hope it was unintentional) harsh accusation, nobody was eating anymore, now all attention was on our conversation.

"I get out often enough, thank you, Molly," I replied curtly, hoping to put a stop the conversation as quickly as it'd started.

"Are you sure, dear? I was speaking to Audrey's mother the other day and she said that Simon had moved back to England, you remember Simon? You met him at Audrey's birthday party."

I certainly did remember Simon, Audrey's brother, and judging by Audrey's face the witch agreed that a poorer match would be hard pushed to find.

"Oh no! Not Simon, Molly!" Audrey helpfully interjected, bless her, "he's far too straight-laced and highly strung, not Hermione's type at all!"

The entire table looked at the witch with an expression of humorous disbelief, not quite believing the word's that had come out of her mouth.

"It's too easy, isn't it?" George muttered from behind the lip of his glass to Fred who was snickering uncontrollably.

Oliver Wood

It's two days before the Harpies game and we have no bloody captain. Two days, as Rita Skeeter kindly pointed out in today's Prophet, we have quite a task on our hands to prove our worth if we can't keep a captain after two bloody matches. Cheers for that Rita, love. Like we needed the reminder.

Every day this week we've expected the manager James to pull someone aside, casually announce it, something! But, no, we've had no news. Can you go into a match without a captain? Is that legal? I'm sure it isn't; I need to break out the rule book again. Anne and Chrissie say I'm a shoe-in but I don't even care anymore, I just want some semblance of stability in the team again. Okay, that's a lie; I want to be captain so bad I can't sleep. I'd settle for anything now though, even Martin Prince, the reserve they've pulled up to replace Billy, he's a right entitled prick but at least we'd have a captain.

I was making a beeline to the showers when Jack and James came into the locker room, eyeing us warily.

"Boys, lasses, we need to have a chat," begun James, our coach looked exhausted by the conversation already.

"A chat about the captaincy," added Puddlemere manager Jack helpfully.

"Since Billy left us, we've had a fair few late night chats over this one, guys."

"And we've come to the conclusion that none of you are particularly ready for the position yet."

The two paused, waiting for their lack of faith in us to sink in. I wasn't sure which wise guy (probably Jack as he seemed to be playing 'bad cop') thought it was smart to insult an entire Quidditch team after a day's vigorous practice but you met all sorts in this line of work.

"That said, we need a captain, we can't go into Saturday's match without one, it's against the rules."

_Ha!_ I thought, momentarily distracted, _I was right!_

"So, we've decided to appoint a temp. Oliver, a word?"

With that the pair walked out, leaving a room full of disgruntled, insulted and muddy Quidditch players looking thoroughly brassed off, I assumed I was expected to follow.

Chrissie was smirking, "lovely approach, Ol. Insult us all and then pick one out after admitting they've no other choice."

I nodded in agreement, mute from shock. Martin must have thought it was nerves as he thumped me on the back encouragingly, stupid sod didn't realise I was offended. What the bloody hell do they mean 'not ready yet'? Having no other choice, and insatiable curiosity, I followed them out the door and down towards the offices. I knew I wasn't going to enjoy this, I wasn't going to enjoy this conversation at all, it took everything I had to not just turn around and have the shower I so desperately wanted. _Don't yell, Oliver_, I told myself, _remember how sound carries_.

"So, Oliver," said Jack when we were all seated behind his ostentation mahogany desk. "We think you should be our temp captain, what do you say?"

I looked back at him, amazed that someone could grin so insouciantly, he really hadn't picked up on the insult. "Well, Jack, I'm not sure why you think I'm 'not ready yet' to be honest, care to explain?" I tried to keep the bite out of my voice, truly, but after nine years of Puddlemere loyalty I struggled to see how I didn't qualify and the fatigue from training was like a weight on my shoulders.

"Now, Ol," James began, placating, knowing my tone. "Physically and technically, you're ready. It's just mentally, well you're not quite there yet, mate."

"Not quite there mentally, James? I've practically been a Quidditch machine since I got my Hogwarts letter! I've thought of nothing but the sport for the past twenty years!"

"Exactly, Oliver! You're going the same way as Billy and we don't want a repeat of _that_!"

"What we're saying is get a life, get equilibrium, and then we'll talk about this being a permanent position. But as you are now? No. Billy left his life as an afterthought and look how buggered we are now; not you too, Wood. I like you too much to let you go the same way, boy."

I stared at the pair of them across the desk, James' expression was so sincere it was hard to argue with him. Maybe he had my best interests at heart, but all I could hear was the put down. All that resonated in my mind and my aching bones was that, after nine years of putting my heart and soul into Puddlmere, I still wasn't good enough.

-Hermione Granger-

The meal was long finished but nobody was making the effort to move, the table discussion had, unsurprisingly, turned to Quidditch. The Chudley Cannons had started the season surprisingly well, having beaten the Tornados 300-260 but their win was already overshadowed with an embarrassing loss the weekend before, one that Charlie and Ginny were keen to not let Ron live down.

"I'm just saying, Ron, it's nice of you to return the Cannons to their traditional gameplay! It's what you know, losing that badly, the fans couldn't have known what to do with themselves when you'd actually won!" teased Charlie, a devout Harpies fan.

"I know," said Ginny, attempting to turn the conversation to one that would make her brother less uncomfortable.

"Hermione, why don't you come to the Harpies match at the weekend, it'll get you out of that office and we can go out and celebrate afterwards."

"Celebrate what?" I asked, warily, aware of how Molly had perked up at Ginny's suggestion.

"My slaughtering the almighty Oliver Wood, naturally." Ginny replied, smugly, with a confidence I envied. She truly didn't doubt her abilities to, ahem, slaughter – it was admirable.

"Modesty isn't a Weasley trait at all, is it?" I replied, dryly, teasing sarcasm in my voice trying to joke my way out of the commitment.

"Oh, Hermione," started Fred, "you've been a Weasley for-"

"What, 15 years?"

"And you still don't realise-"

"This is us being modest, love," George finished, the pair were impossible when they started finishing each other's sentences. Just watching them interact was like a Muggle tennis match.

"Well, what if I don't want to spend my spare time watching a bunch of grown witches and wizards chase some balls around in the air?" I replied teasingly. While earlier in the evening I'd felt defensive I'd relaxed into a routine now, the banter between the Weasleys and myself came naturally and it felt like there'd never been any discomfort between us.

Bill sighed dramatically, "Hermione, really, are you still pretending you don't like Quidditch?"

"Oh, come on! How many nights in our third year did you spend watching the team practice?" added Angelina.

"Maybe she just had a thing for Wood," teased Katie, sending a wink in my direction, but I was just thankful the flush of my cheeks had gone scoffed.

"Oh you're one to talk! You were mooning after him too!"

"Only till he became the fascist captain extraordinaire!" Katie retorted, the conversation was, thankfully far away from whatever interest I'd found in the Quidditch stalls in my third year.

"It did quite ruin the allure didn't it?"

Fred and George were watching the back and forth between their girlfriends with unnerved expressions on their faces, clearly this was the first either had heard of any latent Oliver Wood crushing.

"Excuse us, a moment, ladies, but-"

"-are you saying-"

"- you _both_ had a crush on-"

"-that mardy Scottish mental patient?"

"Oh, Georgie. You say mardy, we say misunderstood," replied Katie sympathetically, with a wistful expression on her face that was tinged with humour.

"And _rugged_!" Angelina added, clearly enjoying teasing Fred just as much as Katie enjoyed teasing George.

"You understood him well enough when he was getting you up at five in the morning!"

"Fascist you called him!"

"And you don't let me wake you up at 5am..."

"George Weasley, if you ever wake me up at 5am I'll ensure you'll never be woken up again."

"Go on, Hermione, come to the match," Ginny insisted again as we left the Burrow.

I sighed heavily, hoping the conversation had been dropped with Angelina and Katie's distraction. "Gin, I'm just not sure-"

"No, what you're not sure of is change. You're used to work and no play now, you're out of the habit of putting yourself out there. We never see you anymore. Harry never sees you! And it's all since you put the distance in when you and Ron split-"

"I needed to, Gin. You don't understand-"

"Yes! Hermione, I do! But don't let it define your life anymore. Don't lose your friends because you were too scared to put yourself back out there."

I was silent, unaware of how obvious I'd been the past few months. Moved by my friend's insistence to hold on to me but offended that she felt the need to dictate. Harry was following us at a respectful distance, a sleeping Teddy held in his arms. That he was content that Ginny would intervene on his behalf frustrated me. When had we reached the point where Harry let his girlfriend do all the talking? I knew I was being irrational but I was put on the spot and still reeling from Molly's verbal attack earlier.

"Come on, Hermione" her words, although aggravating, struck a defensive chord. I decided to prove her wrong, prove that I did have a 'life'.

"Fine," I conceded, I'd show her.

I don't know if this chapter needs a Brit-slang glossary, all of its Google-able though, sorry if it got confusing. Let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver Wood

* * *

I bang my head against the headboard in frustration, the parchment smeared with nonsense, the quill nibs broken (which is probably for the best); writing a speech for the team tomorrow is going to take a feat of magic that would leave Merlin himself impressed. How am I supposed to go out there tomorrow knowing I'm the last resort? How do I do this?! Are they so ignorant that they thought this _wouldn't_ affect my game? I glare at the clock, midnight, in twelve hours I'll be sat in that locker room pulling on my gear. I'll be giving a speech, a motivational pep-talk, trying to boost morale; but how I can I do that if I can't motivate myself? They pretty much told me that I'm not good enough, how on earth do I turn that around?!

They told me to put more effort into having a life, like I don't try at all. The worst bit is that I actually do. But I've long since realised that the interesting girls, the ones who don't ask on a weekly basis for me to explain the Quaffle, aren't as interested in me as I am in them. Apparently Quidditch gets 'boring', I've no evidence to support this, only their word, which I feel was very biased (not that I am) and no girl appreciates me leaving the bed at six in the morning (or so I'm told).

So tomorrow, or today (depending on your level of pedantry), I need to lie to my team, something I abhor, to get them to dismiss Rita _bloody_ Skeeter's defamatory remarks, bloody Portree fan, and win the much needed five points to keep us on the top half of the league table. Easy.

* * *

Hermione Granger

* * *

I'm not a vain witch, I value my mind over my appearance any day, but today I'm scared. Scared makes me self-conscious, which results in my being stood in front of a full-length Muggle mirror frustrated at every piece of clothing I own. Here's my dilemma: it needs to be something casual and warm – no good will come from skimpy at a Quidditch match in November. Nothing frumpy or too reserved though, I'm putting myself out there, socialising, I don't want to be regarded as an arse. Ginny'll be angry if I wear Puddlemere blue, which isolates a fair amount of my winter wardrobe, so I'm going for warm, modern and no blue. Bollocks, this takes more effort than it should.

I look at the clock, eleven thirty, I could just not go; Ginny wouldn't notice or she'll be too concerned with her game to kick up a fuss, Harry and Teddy won't be there either, it'd be easy. I could probably still get some work done too. Ginny's words from Thursday still resonated in my mind though, was I really as scared as Ginny accused? Had I really let it get that bad? Yes, I suppose, I am. I'm petrified, but at the Quidditch match nobody will care about me, I won't be the focus, everyone will be too enraptured by the game play above us; perhaps it is the ideal place to start.

Ever since Ron and I split up I'd cut things like this out. I'm not sure if it was intentional or not but things that reminded me of him hurt so much I had to let them go; Quidditch (which I do enjoy despite my protests), interaction with my closest friends, they all had thirteen years of Ron associated with them. My entire knowledge of the wizarding world had connections to Ron so I'd regressed, wrapped myself up in the areas where he had no influence: books and work. It's funny but Ron had hated, and I mean truly despised, my job. He said I put too much of myself into it, I cared too much, I brought it home with me and I suppose, since the split, all I've done is prove him right.

I Apparated straight to the Harpies stadium, the Harpies' box was fairly busy, as one of the major players in the league their freebies were few and far between and I had rarely seen them play from a box seat. I finally began to feel excited as I took my seat (next to a wizard wearing robes that flashed garishly from the home kit to the away, cheers Gin), the exclusivity of my seat and the palpable tension of the stadium was like laughing gas and soon I was grinning with the rest of the box, waiting anxiously for the teams to fly laps and the balls to be released.

* * *

Oliver Wood

* * *

The stomping feet of the stadium above us sounds like a heartbeat, it echoes around the room, throbs like a pulse. I draw in a shaky breath and everyone looks to me, my team. "Ladies, Gents, this is not an ideal situation. It's not ideal for us to go out today without the stability of a permanent captain. It's not ideal for us to have to push through the negative press we've had this week. Our fans doubt us. Our management doubts us. I don't know about you, but I certainly doubt myself. Individually we aren't perfect, but as a team? We work. We fit together. We fight, we've always fought; it's what Puddlemere does. In the war we set aside Quidditch to fight for what we believed in; after Voldemort's defeat we were one of the first to regroup and reinstate the league. We have always pushed to win and be the best we can, despite the disbelievers, the haters and Rita _fucking_ Skeeter. We will go out on that pitch, we will fight, and we will win; because we are Puddlemere United and fighting to win is all we know." I finished, breathing heavily.

"Hear, hear!" Elijah called out from behind Anne, cheerfully, and I broke out into a grin; we all started laughing, the moment that had felt awkward and new to me no longer so alien.

"Nicely put, Ol. Let's do this!" added Wilda.

"That reminds me, don't forget to keep an extra close eye on Wilda, Beaters," I said to Anne and Chrissie, waiting for their agreement.

Wilda rolled her eyes, "Oliver, I don't need-"

"Maybe not, but I'd rather not be a Chaser down because I wasn't cautious. We don't know how pissed the Harpies are about 1999 and if you start scoring, which you will by the way, then they _will_ get pissed off. I don't think wands have been taken in today either, so, just be aware please everyone!"

We walk out to the pitch and start our warm up laps, the crowd is a sea of blue and green, it's all I can see. The whistle blows, no more laps. I land in the middle of the pitch and it takes me a moment to realise that they're waiting for me, I'm captain now, I need to shake hands.

"Oh! Sorry!" I stuttered embarrassingly to an irate Gwenog Jones. Jones glares at me, gripping my hand tightly, trying to prove something in that moment as so many captains had before. As if a handshake would result in scaring me off enough for the Harpies to win. She stalked away, back to her team, making sure to shoot the dirtiest look she could muster to Wilda on her way. This'll be fun.

* * *

Hermione Granger

* * *

I watched the lingering tension on the pitch, so far below me, between Jones and Wood and wondered fleetingly if there was any lingering tension from the riot in 1999; the crowds were already tense, and I wondered at what point Ginny thought me going to a Puddlemere vs Harpies game alone was a good idea. Thankfully they hadn't taken my wand away at the gate.

"Prince – Griffiths – Workman – Griffiths – GOAL! And Puddlemere United get the Quaffle through the hoop! First goal from an ex-Harpies player too!" the crowd booed loudly as the commentator acknowledged Griffiths past team.

The game carried on as quickly as it started, as always I was reminded that Hogwarts' Quidditch Cup was just a shadow of the league, the two were almost incomparable. While Quidditch at Hogwarts was easy to follow, relatively clean (most of the time) and never lasted too long; professional Quidditch was _fast_, you could hardly keep up with Quaffle let alone the Bludgers and the Snitch as well.

After the first few goals, it was 40-20 to Puddlemere, the game got rougher and rougher and I watched as the shots Wood was blocking became more and more aggressive. The Puddlemere team were playing dirty, there was no way to avoid it, but given the press they'd had recently, you almost couldn't blame them having something to prove. The Harpies met dirty with filthy fouls, mainly against Griffiths, it was clear they hadn't forgiven her jumping ship all those years previous.

As a Bludger narrowly missed Griffiths for the fifth time I looked for Ginny, she was circling the pitch with Dotson following her, it was amazing how they could tune out the mayhem below them all to catch a glimpse of a tiny golden ball that meant the difference between winning and losing in most games. The crowd erupted suddenly, a foul was replayed on the screens, the Harpies team had Stooged Oliver Wood. Jones and Barbary rushed him, knocking him away from the goals so that Gifford could throw the Quaffle through.

The penalties were coming quick and fast now, Puddlemere got another three – although only the Stooging penalty went in – and the Harpies got six, three of which Oliver blocked. Ninety-six minutes in and the two teams were even, everyone in the entire stadium was on the edge of their seats, the box was silent while the crowd roared and howled with unbridled excitement.

And then Ginny saw the Snitch; but so did Dotson.

The race to the Snitch was one of the most intense I'd ever seen, the entire stadium held its breath as the two rocketed down towards the pitch at breakneck speed, Ginny almost had the advantage but Dotson was taller and stretched himself out from the very tip of his broom until, and I could hardly believe it, his fingertips closed themselves around the fluttering golden ball.

Puddlemere had won.

* * *

A.N. my football team lost when I wrote part of this – this match was my way of cheering myself up! The 1999 mention is a reference to the Harpies/Puddlemere riot is canon and details can be found via HP-lexicon or the HP wiki (the lexicon version has newspaper coverage).

Also, I only just noticed the **_MASSIVE_** block of text in that last chapter, it was formatted properly in Word but that didn't copy paste over well. I've fixed it and it looks a lot more readable now – why did nobody tell me!?


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver Wood

* * *

You couldn't escape the emotions of the stadium; it was one of those things that made me love Quidditch so truly. It was basic – you either won or you lost and people were either happy or sad. Sure it wasn't _really_ that simple, it was a heavily nuanced game that relied on tactics and daring, passion and cunning. But at the end of the day, the end of the match, you either won or you didn't and there were days when that simplicity was something to marvel. Today wasn't one of those days though, simply because we'd won.

It wasn't _just_ that we'd won that made the victory so sweet (although it helped), it was the fact that we'd done it despite everything. Despite losing our captain and Chaser, we won. Despite the bad press, our lack of faith, the low expectations of our fans, the grudge between Puddlemere and the Harpies; against all that we prevailed.

A good two thirds of the stadium was frustrated with our win, that was clear, so our celebrations on the pitch were modest. We flew our laps, paying close attention to the third that _was_ pleased (to say the least) with our win, shook hands with our opposing team (taking the high road despite their hostility to Wilda) and went on our merry way towards our locker room before celebrating properly.

"Wait up, Wood!" I heard a woman yell behind me, I turned (hoping it wasn't a groupie), to see Ginny Weasley running after me; definitely not a groupie then.

In the years since Hogwarts I'd become better acquainted with Ginny Weasley, although seeing as my memories of her from school were just of a shy sister to my Beaters, that wasn't saying much. We met often in Quidditch matches and the occasional charity gala or event. They were events that neither of us particularly enjoyed so we'd become inclined to chat and drink butterbeer on such occasions to pass the time, therefore we knew each other fairly well by now.

"Hi, Ginny, good game!" I greeted the witch, glad she was no longer the 'opposition'.

"Yeah, yeah, you were lucky with that Snitch," she replied teasingly.

I grinned, "isn't that the point? I put all my efforts into the Quaffle only for it to become obsolete in the end, determined by a fifty-fifty chance of you getting the Snitch? Cheers for missing it, by the way."

She just waved me off, knowing I was joking; the pair of us were used to depreciative banter post-match by now.

"I was wondering, do you want to go get a drink with me and a mate in a bit? Post-match celebration/commiseration delete where applicable, etc."

"Yeah, sure, as long as I'm not going to be verbally assaulted by some rabid Harpies fan?" I asked with genuine concern, it'd happened before.

"Merlin, no! The complete opposite, actually, she's nothing like that. Hermione Granger, I'm not sure if you knew her at school?"

"Oh, yeah, I met her," I replied, trying to sound insouciant, "once or twice, at least. She seemed alright. See you outside the Harpies room?"

She agreed and we both separated, giving in to the painful need to shower. Ninety minutes of fast-paced Quidditch may feel great but it made you smell something awful, few would agree to be exposed to that for longer than necessary.

"Well, everyone, we did it; despite _everything_. Congratulations!" I told my team as we filtered into the guest locker room.

"Nah, Ol, you did it. It was all in the captain-ing," replied Wilda with a bloody wink (quite literally, the Chaser winked at me through the blood flowing into her eye from the cut on her forehead).

"Whatever," I replied, ignoring the teasing comment, "we'll analyse it on Monday, enjoy your weekend!"

"Oliver, why do I get the impression that you're not teasing when you talk of 'analysis'?"

"Anne, now I'm your captain you should know, I never tease about Quidditch," and, as I headed towards the men's showers, it was my turn to wink at my team.

* * *

Hermione Granger

* * *

I sat impatiently in the foyer of the Harpies stadium, humming 'Beat Back the Bludgers, Boys, and Let the Quaffle in' aggressively as I waited for Ginny. We'd agreed to go for a drink post-match, I say agreed, it was more like she insisted and I relented, knowing that to fight it was pointless. I wasn't alone in the open hall, but there were few people who would be willing to chatter with me or I them. The main occupants to the area, that was only accessible to those who had box seats, were the dreaded WAGs (or wives and girlfriends) and the conversation was a tad too otiose for my liking.

It was a scene I was familiar with, having encountered similar witches when I was dating Ron. There was a sense of entitlement in the room, the women who joined me were 'with the team', see, and that meant they were privy to gossip mere witches like myself weren't. In situations like these they often liked to spout the dirty details as loud as possible, hoping to get some poor witch to take the bait, just so they could prove how much better they were.

"-Well, it's a surprise they won at all, really," said the first of three women in Puddlemere blue, they were gathered together impatiently looking in, what I assumed was, the direction of the locker rooms.

"Complete luck, they wouldn't have managed it against a proper team," replied her friend. It always frustrated me that the women and men who partnered with the players would always behave so viciously behind the scenes. It was a lack of support that I struggled to comprehend.

"Yes! I keep telling Bennie, get out while you can, the Wasps are doing well, he needs to jump ship."

"Yes, especially with Oliver now in charge," said the leader, clearly disapproving of the temporary captain.

"Well, '_in charge'_? He's only temporary," the scorn in the woman's voice was clear – she must have thought her 'Bennie' was better suited to the role.

"I heard he paid off Jack to get him the captain role." Ah, of course, Oliver couldn't have gained the position from his own merit.

"Really? Rita said in the Prophet that he'd paid Billy's wife to kick off and get Billy to leave so he could move in on the spot." I bristled unwillingly at this, feeling defensive towards the wizard who I hadn't seen in years, other than flying around a pitch. It was unfair that they were slandering wildly the new captain of the Puddlemere team, temporary or not. He was supposed to be leading their partners, supporting them, working with them to produce a better team and all they could do was slag him off.

"Well that didn't work out for him, did it? He's only temporary."

"He must be proper narked about that, nine years on the team and they still don't want him to be captain!" The glee in the witch's voice was unmistakable.

"_I_ heard it was because he can't hold down a relationship – doesn't look good for the image, see. Teams want a family man to lead, that's why everyone loved Billy so much." I wondered fleetingly if Billy had been so highly praised a week ago when he was still captain.

"Didn't he turn down Rita's niece?"

"Yes, the git, she's a lovely girl. Apparently he said he wanted a girl that was more 'intelligent'!"

"_Intelligent_, him?!" she scoffed. "He'd be lucky!"

"What intelligent girl is going to be interested in the likes of him?!"

"Oh, I don't know," I heard myself say, against my better judgement, "he's not that bad to look at, that's for sure, I can think of a fair few intelligent girls who wouldn't say no_." Oh, Hermione_, I scolded myself, _what _are_ you doing?_

"Oh and you'd know intelligent girls, would you? Who are you, silly witch? Hanging around, hoping to get a glimpse of a proper Quidditch player? I'm surprised they let you in."

"Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, don't you know?" said Oliver Wood, just as I was about to respond. "How're you doing Charlotte?"

"Oliver! Lovely job out there, you're such a good captain! I _do_ hope they make it permanent."

He smiled indulgently, as if fully aware of how insincere her words were, "I'm sure. Come on, Granger, Weasley's waiting."

* * *

Oliver Wood

* * *

Did I remember Hermione Granger? Ginny'd asked. I didn't see how it could ever be possible to forget the girl. She'd been a strange girl when I'd met her, understated, but proud. Undeniably smart, frightfully so, it had been intimidating that first time I'd met her; she was brash in her explanation, I thought she must have been stuck up but realised soon after that it was probably nerves. Potter and the twins had nothing but nice things to say about her, yes, she was bossy at times but her intelligence was vast and her capacity for kindness even greater. Since that first time I'd met her we hadn't interacted all that much, a passing 'hello' in the corridors of Hogwarts. We'd seen each other during the Battle of Hogwarts too, but that hadn't really been the place for people to catch up. In the years after the war I'd occasionally seen her around at Quidditch matches, she'd been dating Ronald Weasley but I hadn't known him well and had always been reluctant to intrude.

When I heard her defending me, a wizard she hadn't properly spoken to in ten years, to that vicious cow Charlotte I couldn't help but grin. She was how I remembered her, naturally, and although she was verbally sparring with the woman I was struck again by her capacity for kindness; it had been so long since we'd last met and yet she defended me without hesitation.

"Oh and you'd know intelligent girls, would you? Who are you, silly witch? Hanging around, hoping to get a glimpse of a proper Quidditch player? I'm surprised they let you in." I cringed at the sour witch's bitter words. How could someone so seemingly happy with her lot be so cruel to a complete stranger? I decided to intercede before things got out of hand, sure that Hermione had bitten off more than she could chew and hoping to defuse the situation.

"Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, don't you know?" I said cheerfully, stepping forward away from the locker room door. The witches clearly hadn't been aware of my entrance, too distracted with ganging up on Granger. "How're you doing Charlotte?" I asked, my voice deceptively sweet.

"Oliver! Lovely job out there, you're such a good captain! I do hope they make it permanent," Charlotte replied and I cringed. _Who, in the name of Merlin, do you think you're kidding, woman?_

I put on a brave smile, sick of the niceties, "I'm sure. Come on, Granger, Weasley's waiting."

I turned to Hermione then, smiling more openly, and took her hand leading her back towards Ginny.

"Cheers for that, think I was out of my depth," she admitted quietly, smiling up at me as we walked away.

"No problem," I replied, grinning, she'd defended me so it was only right that I'd done the same for her. Besides, she thought I was good looking.

* * *

A.N. I am internetless, therefore this chapter has been a bit of a pain, I've recently moved back down to be with my family post-uni (I'm dreadfully homesick for London) and we've just moved and the internet is impossible and not really figured out yet (read: I have to have angry phone conversations with BT daily). Jim Beam, Elway (very good band) and my beloved 3G on my phone got this chapter written.  
It's also a right pain to get a chapter into DocX to upload, I can do most things on my phone but transferring a Word document is fairly beyond it. What I'm getting at is: bear with me, this and 'Show of Strength' (my Druna three-shot – I do like the obscurer ships) are not neglected, I'm writing, it's just the updating may be a bit of an arse while I figure it out.


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